The Other Boys
by Queen of Snupin
Summary: I began with a wall and a broken fist. Ron and Draco. Slash. To Come. take that however you feel at the moment There is mention of puppies. On Hiatus until June.
1. Broken Hands and Broken Facades?

**_The Other Boys_**

"I should have seen this coming," sighed a very disgruntled Ron when faced with a dead end hallway. The combination of his luck the past few days and the mischievous magic that was Hogwarts, seemed to be lethal. They had conspired to make this day one of the worst of his life so far. Okay, so that was over-dramatic, but as Ron stared at the stone blockade, he couldn't help but feel a feint conspiracy theory pulling at the back of his mind. He slammed a fist against the offending stones and howled in pain. Now he was late for Transfiguration, _and_ his fist was both throbbing and probably broken. "Shit," he winced as he cradled the crying digits.

"Fantastic Weasley," was heard behind him. Ron turned and faced the snide face of Draco Malfoy, leaning up against one of the many locked doors that lined the hallway. "A real stroke of brilliance that." Just what the wounded boy needed.

"Shut it Malfoy," snarled Ron as his ears turned red and if it weren't for the fact that his hand was shooting arrows of pain he would have punched the sneer right off of the other boy's self-righteous face. He moved to turn back down the deserted hall, when the blonde stood center, blocking both versions of retreat. "Move."

"No," Draco stated. There was no malice in his words; it was simply a statement. He looked the other boy up and down with a hint of disdain etched in his distinguished features. His grey eyes lighted upon Ron's swelling appendage and he reached for his wand.

Ron shot his other hand quickly into the pocket of his robes where he had stashed his wand earlier after hexing Peeves. His face was white as he drew it and pointed it dead between Draco's eyes. "Don't..."

Draco looked up genuinely surprised by the fear hidden haphazardly behind the other boy's glinting eyes. "Don't point that thing at me Weasel," demanded Draco. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm going to fix your hand." Ron did not lower his wand. He did not look comforted; in fact, he looked even more terrified.

"You're...what...I..._why_?" the red-head spluttered.

"It's broken," stated the shorter teen as he reached for it and took it gently in his. Under his breath he uttered an incantation and Ron felt a warm tickling sensation flow upward from the tips of his fingers into his wrist. Draco let Ron's hand fall to his side, and Ron flexed it wonderingly.

"Thanks," he said strained.

"Don't get used to it Weasel," smirked the other boy. "I just didn't want anyone thinking that the only thing I could do to you on my own was break your hand."

Ron's face became the color of a beet. "So what, you'd rather they thought you let a lowly blood-traitor like myself walk away?"

"Crawl,"corrected Draco.

"What?" asked Ron disbelievingly.

"Crawl away Weasley," Draco said as he checked his hair absent mindedly in the mirror on the opposite wall. "Wizards of your stature can't afford to walk."

Ron sputtered in rage. This was just too much. "Fuck you Malfoy." He pushed past down the hall.

"Only in your lonely pathetic dreams," called Draco after him.


	2. Paranoid Rantings

Ron was coming the realization that Hermione, Queen of Gryffendor, Mistress of the Universe and Goddess of All Things Educational, was insane.

"Ronald Weasley, let me see your hand!" The shriek came from an enraged brunette sitting about two feet from Ron's face.

Having been his normal self, and therefore impulsive and big mouthed, Ron had proceeded to tell his two best friends about the incident in the halls. Harry, reacted in a very paranoid and rather freakish manner, as was to be expected whenever anyone, let alone Draco Malfoy, did something out of character. What was not expected however, was that Hermione also reacted in this way.

Her reaction was a lot more "pro-active" than Harry's theorizing about why Draco would fix Ron's hand, what was he scheming, is he trying to get to Harry, etc. etc. Hermione instead, proceeded to heal, and re-heal, and test, and bewitch, and de-magic his hand in about 350 different ways over the past two hours.

During this time, Ron was not allowed to move, and Ron, really needed food. Finally he had decided that enough was enough and had pulled away. Here, began the screeching.

"Hermione!" Ron replied, not as loud, but still rather agitated, "I have let you see my hand. I have let you poke, prod, and do countless other things to my hand. I have not had control over my hand for the past two hours, and right if this hand needs does not get some food into this mouth, this wizard," motioning to himself, "_IS_ going to die, and it wont be because of some heinous plot of Malfoy's!"

"But Ron! It could be cursed, or jinxed, or…"

"Or what? What other tests are there, besides those you _were_ studying for when I burst into the common room many hand-spells ago?" Ron saw the look of hurt on his friend's face and softened his tone. Smiling he said, "Hermione, I feel fine. In fact, I feel better and healthier than I have in a long time. I think you may have killed every harmful germ in my body. I promise, if anything weird happens, if I start to feel a tingling in my hand or it falls off, you will be the first to know."

"Well that'd just be silly," responded the hyperactive witch. "If it fell off, you'd best head to Madame Pomfrey's."

Ron rolled his eyes and nodded his consent.

Harry was still muttering, "Plot…scheme…evil…no good…", when Ron successfully extricated himself from his friends and headed toward the portrait. Although there were sweets in closer reach than the kitchen, Ron had decided that no amount of chocolate frog or beans of any flavor was going to squelch the raging hunger inside of his stomach.

He had, of course, arrived late to class, which had, of course, resulted in a detention. This detention meant no dinner, and no dinner meant a very unhappy teenage boy.

At least, this is what he told himself his reasoning was for leaving the bustling common room in search of sustenance. He didn't allow himself to focus on his subconscious need for a quiet place to think. He didn't allow himself to wonder why it was that he had been so sure that his hand was _not_ cursed. He didn't allow these thoughts. Instead, he wanted food.


	3. Puppies

_Author's Note:_

_I still don't own these characters, this setting, or even the creative genius to come up with something so fantastic. Please don't sue me...I'm funny._

* * *

After their previous altercation, both boys attempted to avoid each other for the good part of a week. Granted, this was slightly difficult given that they had quite a few classes together, but the usual berating was forgone and only furtive glances from one to the other's cast down head remained. Each boy had his reasons, and Draco's was that he was simply too busy; their midterms were quickly advancing and he, the proud king of Slytherin, was not going to let a befuddled redhead get in the way of his "O"s. At least that's the answer he gave when Pansy confronted him late that Friday night as he was pawing through his potion's text frantically, looking for the antidote to a mis-produced healing draft. He pulled his right sleeve farther down his arm. Apparently when brewed wrong, the draft left particularly nasty puss-oozing scars.

"Oh Draaaaay..." Pansy's intensely irritating nasal voice wafted through the air directed at the back of his head. Draco sighed and glared upwards toward the stairs to the girls' dorms.

"Parkinson," he hissed, returning to his book. Pansy threw herself over the banister and landed gracefully on her feet next to coffee table Draco was currently occupying.

Plopping herself down onto the very fluffy green couch she continued, "Where have you been lately Dray?" Draco thought this to be a very peculiar question to ask some one with whom you had walked, talked, and stalked for as long as he could remember.

"Uhhh..." he replied slightly taken aback. "_Oh perfect Draco,_" he thought, "_a response worthy of a Weasley, that'll show her you're ok you twit. 'Oh yes Pansy, I the king of snide hurtful remarks is so preoccupied that my brain seems to have gone on a trip to Maui.'"_ He seemed to have said the last part of that thought out loud because Pansy looked excruciatingly perturbed.

"Maui?" she echoed unsurely.

Draco decided to cut his losses. "Yes Maui, Pansy, and I'll inform you the next time I am in need of a parrot."

Pansy took on a slightly reddish tinge, whether from embarrassment or agitation Draco was unsure. "Well," she hissed. Agitation, Draco's amazing pure-blood mind concluded. "It seems that you have nothing against attacking people mindlessly, so why have you been leaving that hot head blood traitor alone for so long? What, is it true love? Is he really a sweetie once you get past that dull, vacant, and altogether stupid exterior? Should I buy a dress?" At this Draco cut her off with a glare as powerful as a thousand suns.

"That's enough out of you Parkinson," he hissed in return. "And next time, leave the witty remarks up to me, considering you seem to be severely lacking in the wit department." She shrunk back into the couch and attempted to cover it up by pretending to stretch and lean back. Draco continued, "I'm simply too busy to deal with bothersome redheads at the moment Parkinson. Mid-terms, I suppose you've heard of them? In fact, you would have spared yourself many a rude comment about your intellectual capabilities had you spared me of your company whilst studying." Pansy looked about to cry. "So if there isn't anything else you'd like to bombard me with, I'd like to get back to this wonderful text." The brown haired Slytherin shook her head slowly and stood up. She headed toward the dorms and was half way up the stairs before she burst into tears and ran.

"_Great,"_ Draco thought to himself, _"So much for concentrating."_ He closed his book and decided he'd have to deal with the contusions on his arm for a little longer. Maybe Professor Snape would help him out. Draco's mind raced with thoughts of lesions, potions, and anything else that could possibly take his thoughts off of why he had become hot under the collar when Pansy had suggested he fancied the Weasel and the way his red hair glinted golden in the sunlight, or the way his eyes were deep like a puppy who you just wanted to pick up and squeeze until it almost lost consciousness...no WAIT, he had not just thought that. He was just thinking about... puppies, yes! He would think about puppies.


	4. Shaking

Finally, the inevitable confrontation that both boys had been trying to avoid occurred in the form of a massive hexing battle between Draco and Harry. It had begun because Malfoy had opened his mouth and said something stupid about Hermione and for some reason Ron was not the first to react, as was per usual. He seemed to be distracted by something. Harry, being the ever-valiant Gryffendor let his emotions take over and soon the blonde and he were engaged in a full on battle.

"MALFOY! You will NOT refer to Hermione that way!" Harry screamed.

"And what if I do? What makes you think that you have the power to order me to do or not do anything? Your pathetic lap dogs may be afraid of you, but I'm not."

"They're not lap dogs! They're friends, but I don't suppose you'd know that since you don't have any."

Malfoy hissed and lunged at Harry, wand raised, and blue sparks shot from his wand and hit the tall brunette straight in the chest. Harry stumbled back and his hand reached up to feel the sight of impact. A large boil was appearing on his skin, stinging to high heaven. Harry looked back at Draco with livid eyes.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he screamed.

Everything was silent for a moment as Draco's sneer slowly fell from his face as he became even paler. Looking down he realized that his once pristine white button-down shirt was quickly staining red. He looked back at the trio, fear quickly flashing across his eyes. He sank to his knees, his blood quickly pooling around him.

"What did you DO?" screamed Hermione as she rushed over to help Draco. "Harry James Potter, WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?"

Harry just stood there in shock, watching the color fade from his enemy's face.

Ron turned and ran.

The last thing Draco saw before he passed out was Ron's receding back

-----

It took a few minutes, during which Hermione tried her best to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much, before Ron's giant gangly footsteps could be heard, getting progressively louder, followed closely by another, lighter, pair of feet. As the redhead turned the corner he stopped in his tracks. The teacher who had been following him, almost ran into his suddenly sedentary form.

"Bollocks Weasley!" Snape screamed. The tall potions master then saw what had caused his guide to cease movement.

Draco's unconscious form was leaning against Hermione, pale, and unmoving.

Severus all but flew to his godson's side and with one glare at Harry, who was still standing shocked and completely useless, lifted the feeble blonde into his arms and hurried to the infirmary.

Ron watched as the two bodies disappeared around a corner. He was vaguely aware of Hermione's shrieking at Harry as she hit him hard across the jaw.

"I told you that book was dangerous! I TOLD you!" She was crying. "Why? Why? No one deserves that, for God's sakes!"

It sounded more like buzzing in the redhead's brain. He was trying so hard to understand everything, everything he had seen and then done.

Rationalization was never a Weasley forte, but Ron was trying his best to overcome this particular hereditary failing. Why hadn't he been the one to jump to defend Hermione's honor? If he had, she probably wouldn't be coverd in Draco's blood screaming at a petrified Harry Potter. If he had, he wouldn't have had to go running to find the closest teacher, which had unfortunately turned out to be Snape, and he wouldn't have had to watch as the stern potions master lost all composure and very clearly displayed emotion upon his face. If Ron had stepped up to defend his friend, which was his duty as a friend in the first place, he wouldn't have had to see the fear in the tall hook-nosed man's eyes.

Through all this, Ron tried his hardest to not think about the fact that he was shaking, terrified, not because he was worried about what would happen to Harry after having made such a bone headed move (which is what Ron would have liked to be his reason for worry), but because he knew that back in the sterilized hospital wing, a drained Draco Malfoy lay, passed out, on a white sheeted regulation hospital bed. Ron didn't want to think about the fact that Draco probably disappeared against the white background.

Ron just stood, trying not to think, and staring at a pool of blood that was slowly seeping into the cracks in the tile on the floor of the dungeon hallway.


End file.
